The Union and journal. [volume], August 26, 1870, Image 1

About The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882

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BX THUS. ABB FAITHFUL, A WD V ALIA IT T FOB THB FT7BLI0 LIBIBTIB8
BIDDEFORD, ME., FRIDAY MORNING, AUGUST 26/1870
VOLUME XXVI.
<Ebf JJnion anb ^journal
is muuu nm rmtr **«»• n
J*. E. DTJTLBJR,
ICtlltor » n <1 Proprietor.
Tuva or Ptblk-atio* i Om copy, on* year, by'
Mil. t*30| If paM la idnaH, tSUOO per year. •»
tl.nnfttrsli month*; seat free of potUp to in; hm
Ofle« la York e<mnljr.
^ortrri.
tuk aoLprx c/rr.
II 111 V. B. MATDKV.
Io I be morn of life, in the vernal day,
Ob I he infant heart, In the spirit new,
Imprenions of jpiudnens art stored a war,
While heavenly truths Ho the th« utfits imbue;
Making the miad like a golden eity.
With topu, agate, and beryl for walto.
Where the angel* work, in love awl pity,
And heavenly sunshine fbrever fella.
If ehildbood or youth, with their fitful dreams.
Beguile me aside, not knowing the way,
Concealing the Sow of &>rbidden stream*,
While Umpting my feet on their bank* to
•tray,
Carry me back to that golden city,
To it* jwper walls, ami its bulwark*
strong.
Where the angels come with lore and
P»«J.
Ami where I may hear their heavenly
■on*.
Oh why did I leave the home of my childhood.
Or wander a way from tnjr land of birth.
Weeping I lost la lifo's tangled wiklwood.
Leaving the M<1 far the of earah!
Then lead me back to the gol<len city.
To iti gemlike sail*, and iU pe*rly
K»««.
Wbc.w th« M|(«U watch, with Ion Mil
juS'6 eavenly Father in mercy waits.
When hero to ay loved ones the summons
COI099,
Calling them over the erystal river,
Leaving nhadows (lark in oar earthly ho®ft,
Ami bringing them back no more forever;
Lift up mine eyes to the heavenly eity, 1
To its mountain high, and its glory
bright.
Where our dear ones wait, in lore and
!>*«/.
To receive us again in joy and light.
Aa my time wears on, and my race is ran.
And shallow* betoken the close of day.
The journey of life, through His mercy, is done.
And Heavenly Father calls me away.
Then take me up to the golden eity, j
To its glassy streets, and its crystal
light.
That there I mar 'earn to love and pity
The erring who Ubor to Sad the right.
There weeping and pain and sorrow are gone.
No hunger returns where the Lamb doth feed,
Whits robes will he give the obedient one.
And by the still waters their footsteps leal.
There >s filth and love in ths holy eity.
With its tliamoo l lowers and its glow
ing domes.
For there the ancels, in truth and pity.
Eternally dwell in their peuoetul
home*.
of r jr.
BY A. A rftOCTOft.
8** the rivers flowing
Downward to the m,
Pouring *11 their treasure*
Bountiful ami free:
Yet to help tbeir jiving
Hidden iprinp arise;
Or, if nwl be, showers
Feed them from the skies !
Watch the prineely Anveea
Their rich fraj ranee spreal,
Loal the air with perfumes
From their heaaty shed ;
Yet their lavish spelling
Leaves theia Dot in dearth.
With fresh life replenished
By tbeir mother earth !
Give thy heart's best treasure—
From fair nature earn;
Give thy love—and ask not.
Wait not a return '
And the more thou spendeet
From thy little store.
With a double bounty,
God will fie* thee more!
The Irish oat crop U very heavy.
Tht* Iowa Agricultural College and
Farm h:is a population of .150 people.
A man from Mountain VWw, Va., says
thrt corn in that region is seventeen feet
high.
Millet I* now Bourn in Wisconsin to
n»kf nit for the* scarcity of hay. the crop
of whicn has failed.
Ptaoh growers of Wnjvm county, lad.*
say there will be full crona where the
(rw«t were mounded l.tts uut fall, and
half i* crop flvwhtTH. A f<»ot and a half
or two feet of moundm" is recommend
ed.
Broom-corn is talked of but little In re
C»rt* And market list*, hut an extensive
i*in**M U done in it. in Central Ohio.
The jjrowcrs do their own manufacture
inj: and put the brooms on the market.
The amount of butter shipped from
St. Albai s during the month of July
was .1,192 tuba, weighing 269,600 pounds,
('ailing the average price a pound thirty
cents, the amount received by Vermont
farmer* for this |>rodnue was f 77.HHO.
A fruit grower of Becraft Mountain is
in favor of miscegenation, as butwwn
currants bushes. lie bidlerea that an ef
fectual stop c;ut only be nut to the rava
ges of worms by planting the ml and
black bushes alternately.
A prnWMwiMMM two-keeper of Medina
county. 0.. reports that ho puherrd Are
thousand pounds of Kimmj in thirty-six
ilays from forty-six hir«a "of bis Italian
bfi-i, and avers that they can keep uu
making ten |m>uo«U a «Uy U» each hire.
A. M. GwImhL in tho Western Rural,
thinks there is not much room U» doubt
that tho day for largu flocks of »l»oep to
}w* made profitable in localities east of
the Miuiwippl is over. lie would not
decrease tho ntimber, however. hot would
have them kwpt only in small flocks.
Siv* th* American Stnrk Jmirml: 'We
beliovo that the fariu- rs greatly err who
fred their rattle from week to week and
often from month to itv nth on the same
kind of food. A chanjpe of diet is nec
essary not only for comfort but for health.
The appetite tires a little of anv food,
however nutritious or grateful to the taste
it may be.'
Half an oun*« of rtryrhoino, as a prophylac
tic, adaiaUterod to a ting n«ry for tain a too,
till k« no lonjjer pays attention to yoa, it is said,
will prevent kit hydropbobioj.
New York oalooaists, airastod for keeping
open Sot* tar. dm claim to open "Jwt to food
tbo oaaarWa." Those oaa»ries ars flto foot odd
i no Woo b if b, and inoatlj take vkiskjr.
A Wlooonoia paper rotations a east where
burglars hroko ioto a store, bat lbs (wis vers
«mM mi tate My
^HiscfUanrous.
"the stonF vault"
I had hft'n with Morris and Grinby fire*
and-thirty years come the first of nextp
month. I was forty when I came here,!
and to I hav« a habit of being exact about
dates; Ami itui now witlun a few weeks!
of seventy-five. But, as for being old,'
bless you," I'm younger than the youngest
clerk/Tom Coders, who, what with late
suppers and hard drinking, has a hand
that »hak«*s like Ulone old ledger leaves
blowing in the wind by the open window
yonder.
Cold water, early hours, and temper-'
ance in all things, krep a man hale his
life through. If you don't believe that,
look at me, I'm an example, sir. Yea,
Pee vjen change* here. The film was
"Morris, Grinbv & Bloom," when I came
though voting Hlnom died three months
after young Grinby was taken into part
nership. We had a lire here, too, aud
the ofllces have beeu rebuilt on a different
plan. Ah. yea—changes enough sail ai»d
pleasant; but the strangest and saddest
of all was what happened to poor Ben
Wade. |
Ah, dear me! it did seem hard, lo* king
at it with human eyes, and forgetting, as
we are apt to, that God does ever) thing
for the best.
IVrlmjH you don't know now mis nouse
is built. It's »n old place, Although the
front and uISm are new, and (Imm great
balustrades wort* only pot np last rear.
Down below you can judge how old It is.
Such a collar, sir—Mich massive wall—
|<av«il with stone. anil below the collar is
a small atone vault, which Coders, who
laughs at serious things, says tho old llrm
built to he buried in. My own opinion is
that it was intended to conceal valuables,
for it has n urate an<! minted door, and
the locks each fastened with a different
key—that is, if they were ever fastened. |
The vault was disused long before luy
time. Well, sir, I hadn't been here six
months, when one day or rather evening,1
for it was nearly six—merchants ke|rt la- ■
ter hours In thorn days—I had occasion
to go down into the cellar before going
home, to give directions to the porteri
nboutsome Uilcs to be sent up tho next
mornlnjr.
Mike and I were up at the north end of,
the cellar, where the bales wore, and j
I giving hiiu my orders, when at my el-1
bow, as it seetued, I heard an odd sounil, J
a kind of wheezing cough smothered in
a moment.
I looked around ; there was nobody j
there not a soul; and I thought: *IIowi
our ears deceive us, to l>e surv,' and went
t>n talking. But, I give you my word, I
hadn't spoken three words when there
was that sound again. It quite started'
me.
•Mike,' said I, 'did you cough?'
•No, sir,' said Mike, *1 thought your
honor did.'
'It must lie Imagination or some sound
from the ofllce overhead,' but just then—
Dugh! ough? We both heard it.
'It's no good, your honor/ said Mike.
'There's some one hiding in the cellar,'
laid I.
So, with MIko's lantern, wo wont oror
the iixvttt stone-naved place, looking be
hind boxes and hale*, and under the steps,
and up the coal slide. Hut n< t a soul did
we tllld until. |Kissing the, door of the
vault, I heard it this time von* faint and
strange, and calling out to Mike:
'Wboaw it i«, is hidden in the vault.'
And with that we both turned stair
ward and lioltcd into Mr. Grinby'a office
together—the old gentleman Grinbv, sen
ior. He don't can') to the office once a
year now, for lie's |*vst nintv. OKI Mr.
Grinbv was just locking his desk and but
toning his overcoat. He stared at us
through his glasses ard ejaculated:
'Mess tue, Humphries, is the house on
fire*
'No, sir.' said I. 'but there'* some ono
hidden in the stone vaUlt.
'llah!' said Mr. Grinbv. 'I thought you
hud better sense, Mr. Humphries. No
one could exist ten minutes in the stone
vault. It is the next thing to air tight.'
•It is my belief that whoever it is mav bo
choking to death, sir,' said I, 'but there
may be some one there. Mike heard a
sound as well as I.'
•Very well,' said Mr. Grinbv: 'call the
nearest constable, Mike, ami—Mr. Morris,
an» you in yonrnffltw, sir? Perhaps vou'll
come down with us and capture a burg
lar Mr Humnhric* has discovered in the
air-tight vault below the cellar.'
He was very satirical; so was Mr. Mor
ris. But we all went down together, the
const able with us, and stopped before the
stone vault. The door was shut so tight
that it took all Mike's strength to open it.
And Mr. Grinby, looking straight before
him. shouted:
'Ha, ha, nobody, as I told you.'
lint the next minute he saw what the
rest of us had already seen—a bundle of
rags in one comer ot the vault down on
the tloor. And amidst the rags was a
white face and a tiny hand, and a bare,
bruited and bleeding foot. And we
dragjed out intosueh air as there was in
the cellar a miserable wretch of a little
boy, who seemed quite dead.
t'p to the office, however, we brought
him to life and got the story from him.
lie lived, it seems, among thieves, and
they had pinned to rol» «is that night, and
he, poor little midge, bad *lip|ied In some
bow, and hidden in the cellar, to open the
door for them, never thinking that any
one would come there that night.
Hut when Mike and I went down, no
took to the vault. and there would have
nuothnvd hut for my hearing him. I
don't care to trll you bow we kept hitu
and fllk'd the place with constables, who,
when the burglars eame. pounced out upon
them and took thein into custody. Y ou
can guess all that. It's the J*** hoy I
hare to tell jn»u about—poor Ben Wade.
It came out'during the investigation, con
sequent upon the arrest, that the poor
chtld was kept among the thieves h? force,
and that thev had lined him cruelly. Once
a rutlian of the gang had bn<ken hit leg
in a drunken finry. and he limped yet from
the injury. He was such a jule. woi n,
miserable thing that every ore felt merci
ful to hint, ami it «ai decided to pardon
him and send him to the poorhouse.
But tiiat verv morning, Grinbv junior—
a young man—came into the office where
his father sat, and put his hand upon his
arm.
•Father.' says he, •! want to ask you one
favor. I want luy own way in one
thing.'
•We!!.' said the old gentleman, 'let me
hear you.'
'I want to take Reu Wade into this
house m an errand boy,' sakl young Mr.
Grlnby.
'Hey?' aaid the old gentleman, 'want a
young* house-breaker as errand boy P Bless
my soulP
'Father,' says young Grinbv. 'the boj Is
naturally a good boy. I like him; I want
to save hiin. Perhaps, if I had not so
fund * father to guide ue mm! to care Xbr
might bro boot *qoo tUa fcfc JJ
donl ask you to trust him, sir. I only1
ask leave to trust him myself. I am
sum ho will pruru deserving of confi
dence. '
Old Mr. Grinhy took out LU snuff-box,
and looked at Sir. Morris.
'I've noticed the lad's oyu; it's a good
one.' said Mr. Morris.
•It'sa risk,'said Mr. Grinby,'but we'll,
consider.'
And I suppose the result was what
young Grinby wanted, for little Ben Wade
came to U4 the next Monday.
Now he was clean and whole, he didn't
look so ba«l. and good food and no abuse
rnado a difference in him In a week.
In a month or so people stopped pre
dicting that young Grinby would renent
someday; and in a vear 1 don't tnink
there was < ne in the office who didn't love
that lioy. So grateful, anJ trustworthy, i
and so ready to do everything for every
one. Young Mr. Grinbvbad him taught,
and well-taught, too. 'fhe lightning cal
culator might beat hiiu, but I doubt it;
and I never knew that lad to forget to dot
his i's or cross his t's in all my acquaint
ance with h.m after he bad learned to
write at all.
At twenty he was one of the best clerks
in our establishment, besides being a fine
looking young fellow as one would wish
to see. On the whole, I did not wontlvt
that Mies Lucy Erans took a fancy to hiiu
—a sister, sir. of oue of the young fellows
at our place, and a girl who lottked like
a queen, and was as good as sho was
handsome.
I used to meet them walking on the
lottery, where loverv used to witlk in th«>so
«lays. lie was so fond and proud of her,
and she had such a tender way of looking
at him, that thev made my old heart voung
again. as I often told Mrs. Humphries, to
whom I always confide everything. AimI
bow he reverenced her—wliv a ribbon or
a faded flower that she had worn was
cherished by him as a miser cherished his
gold.
Al in*l oe loiu me, in commence—ior
her name was sacred. and not to bo spoken
before every one— (tint they were to be
married.
'And when I look bark, sir/ said he,
•and remember the miserable year* of mv
wretched childhood, and think now friend*
less nd forlorn 1 was, and how there was
nothing before me but a prison or the gal*
lows, and think tliat now I have every*
thing to make man's life blessed—the
(tower to win a respoetable liveliho* d by
reputable labor, the respect of honest men,
and the love of rach a girl as Lucy—I can
never be too grateful to the kind friend
who saved me from a life I dare not con*
template. G«k! bless Mr. (JrinbyP said
he, lifting his hat reverently as he might
in church, and there was A prayer iu his
dark eyes as he looked upward.*
Those were tho last words I ever heard
him sjieak, except •good-night.' Ah, dear
me, it should have been good-bv. Ten
minutes after I went one way and* he the
other. I took mv wav home, and he, as
seemed afterward, walked just two blocks
and then came Imek here. At twelve
o'clock that night I awoke Mrs. Hum
phries.
♦My dear,' said I, 'I must have had the
nightmare or something.
♦Goodness,' Mid she, 'it seems so. Yonr
hands are like ice. What give It to you,
love? The lobster. I'll lie bound.'
'IVrhai«,' said I; 'I admit I ate a hearty
supper. And nothing else could make
me fancy young Wade at my bedside,
white as a ghost, with both bauds on my
breast.'
•Ah, but th» nightmare is alwnys black,
not white,' said my wife. And then she
went to a little cupboard aud brought me
a glass of wine. After that I went to
sleep again.
I did not rse early, and was quite be
hind my usual time. But when I reached
our place I found it in great commotion.
Clerks running hither and thither, the
heads of the :lrms standing aliout in the
most unbusiness liko manner, and three
constables on the premise*.
•What is the matter, sir?' I said, ad
dressing Mr. (Srinby.
•Matter enough,' said he. 'We've been
heavily roMied.'
•I fancied that could nt happen hero,
said I. '1 n*allv believed it would Ixs im
Enssible for burglars to break into Morris
rinhy & Son's, sir.'
•Ah, said hp, 'they did not break in.
The door has been quietly opened froiu
the iu*ide.'
•And I believe—" lM»gan Mr. Morris.
•Sir.' cried young Grinby, out of breath,
•I beg, as a gentleman, as a man of prin
ciple, you will not give utterance to your
unfounded suspicions—totally unfounded
and unworthy of you.'
'Prove them so, sir,' said Morris, cool
ly, 'and I'll apologise"
I looked an iuquiry.
'Don't a*k explanations, I beg Mr.
Humphries,' said Mr. Grlnby, 'Some
thing has been said which the speaker will
regn-t. Ah, here come* my messenger.'
And in ran one of oar boys.
•Well, Tom,* said Mr. Grinby.
•Mr. Wade ain't 1m en homo all night,
sir,' said Tom.
•I told you so,' said Mr. Morris.
'Ami I tell you even yet I will not hear
my dear friend'*—yes, my very dear
friend's—character asperaeo,* said young
Grinby. 'Ilumohrius, I know you love
young Ben Wado as I do. Fancy him
connected with this robbery. As well
susiMt-t my father, or myself, or you.'
•lie's missing.' said Mr' Morris, shutting
the oMee door upon us three. 'lie was
seen to return late in the evening. lie
w«s one of the hand of housebreaker*
when we took him in. and many declare
the character to be formed at six years
old. He was nine. I believo he has been
won back t«> his old ways*'
•You will not express your belief to
others.' said Mr. Grinby.
'Not as yet, most certainly,' said Mr.
Morris.
Well, Mir, that was a hitter cold day to
me-a bitter day. We could lenm noth
ing of young Wade after eight o'clock on
the nrovioo* night. Then several had
seen him. He had taken tea at a little
ooflfee house, as he sometimes did when
he did not intend to return home until
tiuite late, and had said to some one there,
*1 must go hack to theofllce. I havo for
got ton something.'
Half an hour afterward Mike, the Por
ter, had passed him in the fclreet, and
young Wade had said :
•What's the time, Mike ?
The porter told hira.
*1 shall he too late,' he said. *1 hare an
engagement, and must go back to our
place for a patvel I've forgotton.'
An apple woman on the corner had
seen him enter. He oftrn bought fruit of
her for lunch and she knew him by sight
There the news ended, until Mike, going
In to light the fires, found the place a scene
of conAision—desks and safes rifled, pa
pers stiwwed about, and every mark of
systematic burglary.
Late in the day Lucv Evans came down.
Her brother had sent* her w.rd of what
bad occurred. She believed some acci
dent had happened to Bea, mod begged ,
tbnflra to spare fto cfluct* to dfeoovvi
him. She was almost distracted, and who
can wonder? They had been going to
gether. it seemed, to s«e soma piny the
night before, and she had been sufficient
ly alarmed by his failing to keop the ap
pointment to*bo in a measure prepared
for worse. She knew bo intended to oriog
her a book. He had spoken of It. That
must hare been the parcel he went baok
for. Of course she never doubted him,;
and no one dared to hintatwhat had been ,
whispered, in her presence.
For weeks, sir, the authorities were at
work. Immense rewards wero offered
for Uie burglars, and the recovery, alive
or dead, of young Beqjamin Wade, but
without the least effect.
We were notified of everybody washed
ashore, and of every unknown man found
dead for months, and at last there were
fmv who did not laugh at poor Ben's
friend's for their credulity.
It seemed plain to them—and may
Ileaven not judge them as they judgeil
tlwir brother—lien Wade was guilty. |
Poor Lucy never looked up. It was
easv enough to see that her heart was
broken, and in a year she died, iust a
week to soon to hear what I shall tell
you.
uno morning i win very uuaj »«, mj
ilesk in the office when a gentleman came
in and asked for Mr. Morris or Mr. Grin
by. Old Mr. Grinby was at home with
the gout, but Mr. Morris and the voung
prntlemcn were in. I saw tho gentleman
was a clergyman, and fancied he had
called to solicit subscription for dome mis
sion to the heathen, or Sunday school or
new church. But his tirst words made
me start. They were theso :
•You remeiuiicr, of course, a burglary
committed here a year ago or more.'
I could not keep mv seat then, but wont
forward, trembling lfko a leaf.
Young Mr. Grinby had turned quite
faint, and was leaning against the wall
for support.
• You are agitatod,' said tho clergyman:
•I fmr you will be still more afTectod by
what you must soon hear. A person now,
in custody, condemned to execution, has1
a confession to make to you in regard to
that affair—a very horrible ono I fear.' |
He took a card from his pockotand
wrote a few lines. |
•If you will call at tho prison any thuo
to-day, you will not lw too late. It is
Friday, 'and ho is to suffer execution at
dawn. Pn*sent this, if you please, and I
implore you to ask no questions now.' |
lleforu thev could say much ho was
pone, nfraiil, I think, to be the tirst to toll .
the story, and our gentleman calle<l a cab, |
mid took me with them at my request.
They s«>emed to ox|>ect us at tho prison,
and we were admitted. Hut in tho nar
row corridor Morris stopped us.
'Gentlemen,1 he said, 'you must nerro
yourselves. Iiavo you reflected that you1
may see Benjamin Wndu, wheu yonder
iloor is opened?'
Young Grinby put his hand upoa his
heart and seemed turning faint ngain. If,
was tho tirst time the thought had entered
my mind, and it was a blow. It stagger-1
mo.
The next minute tho turnkey flung the |
iloor ojien and wo wore in the cell. On
the floor lava limn—it broad-shouldered |
follow-In rough garments—who seemed i
to have cast himself down in grief or
terror. It was not lien Wado. At first
I thought I never had seen tho face he
lifted itt it rose. In n moment it caiuo
to me.
It was tho leader of the gang who hftd
l»een arrested for that old attempt nt rol>
liery when wo hud found littlo lien in tho
stone vnult.
•You've come, havo you?' he said, sit
ting down on the stone sent. 'nnd I see
yon know me. They've cnught mo ngftin
mill it's murder this time, nnd I've got to
swing. If it wasn't for that, no person
'lid have got this out of me. lint I've
Eiromised, and I always keep my promise,
do. Von remember a young man called
Ben Wade?'
'What of him ?' we cried in ft breath.
'Not much—he didn't rob your nlftco,
that's nil. We done it—Dick liurcn nnd
Slippery Tom »nd me. Tell von how it
was. Von know that boy informed on
us and I was loeked up for hardlalxir for
more years than most men live. I didn't
nay, tfiough, I cut olT nnd came home.
And the first thing I did was to vow ven
geance on that bojr. Why, there was n
gay young buck, in fine togs, with the
handling of money, nnd thought of and
trusted just for having done for us. Proud
too—wouldn't speak to us in the street.
Threatened to give inforiuntiou :f he saw
one of us prowling nbout. I hennl It nil.
I swore I'd fix him; nnd lf. seemed to
oome to me.
•Olio night I was agoin' to Slapiier's
Shades to have a drink, llurch win* with
me; and in a quiet sort of street wo cfttno
up to lien, in ft mighty hurry.'
'I'd Imve knocked him on the bend, but
Huivh stopjicd me.
'See what he's up to,' s«ys he. And wo
followed. He went down to your place
iiinl went in. Ho left tho door ajar. nnd
we made the best of it. lie was coming
uut with a book or something in his haml,
and we uiet him. He was plucky, I tell
you. Ono of us wouldn't have got oflT so
wisv, but wo woro two to one. Wo gag
ged nnd tied him, nnd iiiimIo a clean
sweep of the plnce tlint night.'
•And Hen—my Cod, did lien think we
would not believe him P' crod Air. (Jrin
hy.
•Ho hud but to eoiuo to ns to tell the
tnith. Where is ho* Do you know?
Speak!'
Tho robber was turning the huo of
fishes. His words enmo slowly. His
syes glanced over his shoulder and ho
I tacked up against the wall.
•We hwked him up in tho stone vnult.'
he snid, 'and took the keys with us. If
you look you'll find him there.'
And Mr. Grinby faintod outright in my
wins.
Woll, sir, the robbers words were true.
The stone vault wu opened that day. and
there—no matter. It wm easier In know
the ring he wore, and the keys and purse
in his pocket, than poor Ben Wade.
The first thing Mr. Grinbj said was—
'Thank heaven. Lucy cannot know it.'
And the next he sobbed—"Oh, but the
pertalnty would hare been better f'T her
after all' And then to know his name
was clear.'
And so that is the story of our stone
rault; and. strange as it is, it is quite
true. You may see bis grave, close be
side Lucy's any day. And Mrs. Huiu
phries—she's a romantlo woman, sir,—
says she thinks the violets and rosea grow
there of their own aocord under the white
monument.
A sick man was told that nothing would ears
iim but a quart of oatoip tea. "Tbta I Bust
lit," said be, "be I don't koid bat a plat"
litre Is an epitaph from a Milwaukee tesn
*7 :—
'Here ts tbe bod? of Peter Oram,
ffko died frota eating eweitaer easei
Fie latetMd six platters, coaMMed upca eerea,
Ui^ttptokd—0< mk it tk* KlnfUs of
The Four Egotisms.
Philosopher* make *elf-oon*ciotisneis
one of the chief distinctions between man
and tho inferior animals. But satirists
hare always had n trick of girlng it an
opprobrious name; and so it has oome
about, that what th»» metaphysician de
monstrates as our crowning glory, tho
moralist tenches us to unlearn and ignore.
Neverloss, we are all egotist*, and hare
oar places each in ono of four great claw*
es. All the world is a college, wbero
"Know Thyself is the only text hook,
freshmen, sophomores, juniors and seniors
are as plainly to be distlnguifthed as their
analogues at any seat of objective leant'
In*. . I
The egotist or the first intention escapcs
all suspicion of egotism,hut is nevertheless
ffulltj of it to tho extent of his capacity.
He makes no comparisons, direct or im
plied, iMttwocn himself and others, aud
therefore gives no offence by any opin
ion ho inay hold in regard to his
abilities or character. But n»s thoughts
rovolvo about his own little existence ;
f and, oftener than ho wouid believe, his
tongne bubbles tlio sameness of their coil*
elusions. Ask him of his health; and ho
innooently supposes that yon wish to know,
and enters upon a catalogue of his diffi
culties, merely glancing at tho minor
ones perhaps, but being very minute us to
the causes, treatment and effects of tho
diseases which are undermining bis sys
tern and making him an object of inter- i
est. Ask him, "What's tho nows and
he will give von with great accuracy the
particulars or the best murders and larg
est fires that hare been recordod in tho pa-1
jwrs for a week. Had the gmat blue i
l>ell-glass that shuts in the world been so,
smidl as to includo onlv his native town,
he would never sigh for outside friend
ship and adventure, but would And suffi
cient fur thought and speculation in the
row aorns he cun ww from his door-step,
and the neighliors he can call by name.
With him the importance of ovents is like
tho brilliance of light—increasing inverse
ly as tho square of their distance.
Thoogotist of tho second intonsion. like
tho sophomore in college, gets all tho hud
names, all the ridicule, and all tho moral
lectures that lielong to the whole range.
Ho is tho egotist, jxir exrxlleticc, of com
mon acceptation. It has occurred to him
to studv himself critically, and to coni|Nire
himself with other*; if to their disadvan
tage, so much the worse for them. He is
like tho older-fashioned locomotives—all
the processm that drive his mental ma
chinery are in plain sight. He can stand
no proposition, utter no sentiment, enter
tain lio opinion, whose force does not do
|>end npon his identity for it* fulcrum ;
and intbocauso this is so, but because it
is evident, ho win seldom get tho justice
of having his arguments and opinions
taken at their intrinsic worth, 'i Ivy all
sufll r discount, hooause we have witnessed
' their tarnation and believe anybody could
produtfc diem.equally well if no only had
the assurance.
Tho egotist «r tlie Mint intension ne
lieves in himself to a huge extent, and
mistrusts himself ton limited extent, hut
by cultivation conceals both his conlldence
and his distrust, lie will not let you see
how he values his own abilities, because
ho wishes to preservo a reputation for
modesty. He will never in your presence
betray anv distrust of himself, lest you
discover thut it is well founded, and his
reputation for ability suffer in conn quonoe.
Ho ignores himself not more as a matter
of politeness thiiu l>ocnuso he appreciates
tho ridicule which is directed at his broth
er of the second intension, and sometimes
joins in it In his conversation he U
ready and graceful at throwing in such
I>arunthcsis as "It seems to me.'1 "It U
my opinion," "I can't say how it limy
strike others," ctc. If Patrick Henry, in
delivering" his most celebrated oration,
spoko tho speech as tho rc|M>rtors wrote it,
which is doubtful, it is an illustrious ex
ample of egotism of the third Intension.
It is a favorite and rather pretty trick of
Iloraco to liegin by protesting that ho
cannot do that which it h:is become his
duty to do. or wliioh ho has set out to do;
to keep up this protest throughout tho
poem ; and. in the very act of protesting,
to do with art and skill the vory thing ho
is telling us he cannot do. Horace was a
consummate egotist of the third intension:
nnd his favorite formula is wido spread
and popular among his classmotes.
Tho egotist of the lourth intension is a
rant mitu u|*>n earth. There is a popular
Ik-lief that greatness is always modest. As
we ordinatelv account modesty, tills is a
fallacy. There Is a grade of greatness
which is inoidinatoly modest and solf
deprecative. But tho greatest greatness
is conscious of its strength, is almve even
so amiable a deception as professing not
to be aware of its superiority, and cannot
ho modest. We do not expect it to bo.
Wo ought not to wish it to lie. Familiar
talk of sumptuous things, which renders
our oroud and pretcntious,but not wealthy
noighltor a by-word, comes pleasantly
onotigh from a millionaire. And it is so
with high grades of intolloctual ability
and culture, or extraordinary gifts of ge
nius. If a mnn knows and feels that he
is a giant ninong his fellow^ who shall
say ho must walk with an ungracoful
stoop? No, he is necessarily egotistical;
and to those who approciato'hlni, his self
consciousness is a source of pleasure. Let
him conceal no trait that shows us what
humanity ninv lie or mav nttain; let him
only be willing to yield his position readi
ly when a greater than he ap|iears, anil
there need be nothing offensive In his tow
erlng egotism.—E. H. Johnson, in Apple
ton's Journal.
One afternoon, ninny ymn ago, a pleas
ant-faced man came into our school-room.
We can remember but Utile of hU appear
ance, except tho sweet smile that played
about his lips, and that seemed to s|*«ad
out all OTer his face as he spoke. Our
tcjiolior requested him to talk to us a little
while, lie oomplied, and hb words have
been as treasured Jewels ever since. We
think that the bright smile and the calm,
winning voice liad much to do with our
remembering him ao distinctly. This was
his speech:—
"Would it not please yon, dear little
onea, to pick up string* of pearls, drope of
gold and diamonds, as you pass along the
street P It would make you happy, I know,
to do so. And yon mav do U; but you
ask me howP I will tell yoo. By drop
ping swoet wonts kind actions and pleat
ant smiles, as you pass along. Ttese are
the true |)earls and precious stones,
^peak to that poor orphan child; see! the.
diamond drops from her cheek. Take the!
hand of that friendless boy; bright pearls
flash from his eyes; smile on the sad and
careworn, a Joy suffiises th«» cheek more
brilliant than the most precious gems.
Try It, dear childeen, and yon will frel
happier when resting on tonr pilloW at
the close of the day, than If you bad pick
ed up a score of glistening jewels. The
brightness of the one will fade, while tho
brilliancy of tho other will grow bright
er and ikigUuir wiifc U» ymt» U our
KMCK.
bt t. a. wmmrnu
To weary hearts, to mooniiog homes,
God'a meekest angel gently cooks;
No power baa he to b*Qtah pain.
Or give ua back our loot again;
An-1 ret in tendereat lore, oar dear
And Usa«enly Father sends him bera.
Thert'a qniet in that angel's glance,
There** mt In his still countenance t
He mocka no grief with idle cheer,
Nor woanda with worda tb« mcurner'a ear;
Bat Ills and won he may not ear*
He kindly trains as to eodare.
Angel of natleooe! sent to salsa
Our fbvernb browa with oooliag balm j
To lay the atortua of hope and Ihar,
And reoonciie lift's anile and Mar;
And throbs of wounded pride to atill.
And make oar owa oar father's wilL
Ob, thoa who mournest on thr way.
With longings for the eloss of dar,
He walks with thee, that angel kind.
And gently whispers, "B« resigned ;
Dear up, bear on, ths end eball tell,
Ths dear Lord ordereth all things well."
The Heroine of Twenty-four Night
Gowns,
The mora the spirit of anything is nee
leoteti the greater becomes tho surround
tag form; and it may be fur this reason
tb»l marriage, now-a-days, lacking the
mutual faith, affection and sympathy that
once distinguished it. seeks to hide iU
want of such essentials by oAtontatious
trappings and mnch social lieating of
gongs and kettle-drums. While every fine
nature of either sex instlnctlvelr shrinks
from a tawdry and tinseled wedding, such
is tho pernicious force of oxampfo that
persons of I igh position, culture and
breeding permit themselves to encourage
what they must secretly despise and he
disgusto " with. Only a few y««ars ago,
those who made a noise and ado over
their nuptials were considered inherently
and irrepressibly vulgar, and sent to Cov
entry, n* the society phrase is, by right*
minded and right-feeling people. This is
all changed now. Only last week a daugh
ter of a prominent Mass.-ichusetts lawyer
and politician win married to a former
officer of the army; and that nothing
might be wanting to the |>erfect vulgarity
of tho ocoasion, a complete and explicit
account of the bride's wardrobe, esoteric
a* well as exoteric, was furnishod to the
now*pa|»ers for publication. We were
told iu the swelling and swaggering rhot;
orie for which reporters are pro- erbial,
the number and kind, and what was the
Srice, of each id" her undergarments,
enkius informed us, as if his soul's salva
tion had depended on ruiorosoopio |*irtie
ularity, where she purchased, who made,
and what was paid tor, her stockings, her
slipper*, her (falters, her petticoats, her
chemises, and even b*r night-gowns, of
which the conscientious chronicler apprises
us she had two dozen; one dozen wrought
with French omhroiderlcs, and the other
respondent with Valenciennes lace, fur
nished by Wcrth, tho famous man-milliner
and maiitua-niaker of Paris. Of several
grevious sins of omis«ion, however, the
historian of lingerie wa* guilty, notwith
standing all his |Kiin«taklng. * lie forgot
to state the number, size and color of the
young lady's garters, and whether her
monogram had been embroidered upon
them. lie also failed to slake our hungry
soul* with the requisite intelligence as to
the fastening of her stockings. Wo shall
never know the sweetness of undisturlied
rest again until we learn, beyond doubt,
whether they wore confined above or be
low the knee. We insist, too, upon l>e
Ing informed bow far those wonderful
rof** (It nuit, as they were euphemistically
styled, descended, even to tho infinitesimal
fraction of an inch. If we could suppose,
for a moment, that they did not touch her
alabaster ankle, or float airily about her
rosy heels, we should never die content
We insist also upon our rights to be made
acquainted with tho texture, quality and
precise length of her corset-lacings, and
whether tho eyelet-holes were made with
a machine or by hand. Unless these
3uestions are answered, no one can pre.
ict what may Iks the (ate of tho nation or
the future condition of s cicty.
Wo would su<nre»t to this wonderful lie
rolne of the twenty-four nigh'.gown* that
she complete the work which has boon so
bravely Imjrun. Let us have further par
ticulars i»f these exciting mysteries of the
remcnlno toilet. Let herls»no a quarterly
bulletin of the stato, accidents, prosjiocti,
ind wear and tour of hor wardrobe, from
her latest eveains-gown to her newest
srmhing-jacket; from her freshest neck
ribbon to hur hist murning.slimiers. We
ihoiild not Ih> deprived, either, of the
pleasure of »n intrudution to her husband's
Inner and outer ptrment*. Are wu to in
fer from the liberal number of his wife's
lieht-jrowns that he Is destitute of shirts?
[localise she has so many stocking*. Is he
lo Ik» left souk!ess* Of how many ancient
NM»t« is he the fortunate iMtsscssor. and
hies he rcjolee In the undivided ownership
tf nijrhtcaps? If the hero of unnamed
iliirts is resolved to Ikj silent, let the hero
no of twenty-four night-gowns sjieak.—
Rochester, S. f., Chronicle. #
Puzzles."One of tho undent*. It is
anid. died of chagrin nt not beini? able to
gucaan riddle propounded by n tUh«rnmn:
"I^eiiving what'a taken, what wo took
not we bring." Ariaio'.lu wu amazingly
perplexed, and I'hiluUx, the mluhntlnl
grammarian and p»»et of Co*, puzx ed
himself to denth in fruitless endeavors to
solve tiie sophism called by tlx) undents
"Tim Liar: "If you say of yourself, 'I
lie,' *u«| ia no saving, toll the truth, vou
lie. If you any,'I lie, and in so saving,
tell a lie yon tell the truth." Dean Swift,
who oouhl an itgreenhly descend to the
alighteat Imdinngn, waa verr food of pu*
zles. Many of the beat riddles in cirvula
tion may be traced to the sportiro mo
ments of men or the greatest oelelirity,
who gladly seek oocMional relaxation
fmiu the grnver ptinuiiu of life in ooni
pciratire trifles. Mr*. Barbaiild says :
"Finding out riddles is the Mine kind of
exeruive for the mind ai running, leaping,
wrestling. are for the body. They are of
no use in themselves; they ant not work,
but pin ; but they prepare the body, and
make It alert anil active for any thing
that may be oalled npon to perform. So
does the finding out good riddles give
quickness of thought and fncilitjr Air turn
ingal out a problem, every way. and view
ing it In even1 niasible light." The French I
have excelled in other people in this epe
eies of literary amusement. Their Ian- J
gttaguage is favorable to it. and their'
writers have always indulged a fondness'
for It.
A New Orleans paper has dlawtsied that!
"arlf-dcatraetMNi implte a seiiiieshie of the
Iot* ot lift for the tins, at least, during whisk
the act of Miicklc ia eoainilttad."
••Hear ve cna*. saa," as the opsalfe assss
War Fotoi*
• <i A < y m i 0 1 J
Punch has an expresslvo cartoon of "A
Vision on the Way." The Eoipror and
the little Princo. riding by night at the
head of a vMt army whuee shadowy
forms fill all the background of the pic
ture, meet the op|Mrilion of the first Na
poleon. who bars their progress with a
warning gesture.
The French soldier* apnear to be Terr
nneaay and restless travelers. A corres
pondent, who witnessed the transporta
tion of troops by railway to the Prussian
frontier, snys: "They seldom star long la
the carriages, but climb npon them and
stand on the roof, singing vociferously.
When a bridge or tunne! appears, they
lie flat down, but only to rise agnin. To
all remonstrances they make tne convinc
ing answer, 'Vive la France!* 'A baa
la Prosse!'"
Louis Napoleon's bulletin, that he would
return to Paris "victorious or dead,"
proves to be a plagiarism from that of
the Fenian General, O'Neill, who used
I Ungnage almost identical when be un
I dertook to invade Canada.
Tho war feeling among u>e uermans u
well illiiAtrmte«l ny tho |*oprieti»r of a
large hotel, who uv hU guests depnrt
injr anil all his pro*i>ects of summer gains
dispelled in a day, yet, in roplv to an ex
prcssion of sympathy by a correspondent,
•aid: "Tobesnrel loee money, but of
what conseqnence h that If the French*
men only get u good thnmplng."
I We qulto agree with tho remarks of a
contcmporarv that "If tho Paris JfonUeur
Is correct in Its romantic story of Gen.
Douay's death, the man was a maniac,
not a nero, andoommiUed not a gallant
deed but suicide. Instead of doing his
duty, and directing the retreat of his de
feated column, he is said to have left h ■
flying troops to their fate, and deliberate*
It walked towanls the advancing Prus
sians until shot down. Such resorts are
th'«e of cowards, not brave men, and
bring only contempt upon the poor and
simple actor. Men who have seen war
will read tho story of Do nay's 'heroic
death' with no feeling akin to admiration
and many doubts of th« truth of the story
or of the General's courage."
The question of the hour: "Where is
the Prince Imperial, the yoting man who
was baptised by Are?" After the flght at
j Haguenaii it was said that Napoleon had
sent little IvHiis home to see his mamma.
I Liter the information came that the boy
I who picked up the up nt bullet at Saar
brink had !>een sent to London for safe
keoplng under the charge of one Mr.
Smith. Again we are told he Is still at
tho theatre of war, under tho protection
of his imporial papa. Paris Is informed,
however, that young Na|ioleon will como
back to the city if the Chambers are anx
ious to have him do so. »t Is to be hoped
that the Chambers will not insist upon
it. Uow the soldier* would weepl
To incr»*ase the naval forties at the
country during the war. the King of Prus
sia offers to charter and arm at his ex
penso any number of shim that will take
jiart In the pending hostilities. The
crews will wear the uniform of the Fed
eral Navy, and be treated in every re
spect on an equal fating. If a shin thus
chartered be injured or dustroyod, she
will be paid for by tho Government; if,
on the other hand, she cantors or de
stroy a hostile vessel, she will recel re a
premium of 60.000 thalers for an iron
eased frigate, 80,000 thalers for an Iron
caned corvette or ram, 20,000 thalers for
an iron battery, 15.000 thalers f«»r a screw
vessel, and 10.000 thalers for a screw of
smaller dimentions.
Wc hv in (be morn, me and Terreoee Ollua.
The throrpa of ahwate Erin move gallantly
oa;
Long lite to their leaden, for abart tbcj don't
care a
Rid cint for thimselve* a* tbe yicthory'a woe.
We bean! In tb« evening, bad luck to tbim pa
per* !
That <lefeat ad t wept o'er tbim and turned
back the tide;
Ooh! tyrantj of Britain, Canadian acbrapen,
Actuhla, t bone an : gramichree we oried.
But no throe-born Fenian an in*tant rappoaea
Tbat tbia aid miafbrtune baa brought ua tbe
eud,
For the grane fl<g of Erin aball haunt tbim
Bluen.eee,
And diamajr and opprobrium onto tbim ahalt
•rod.
And Freedom, In ahpite of tbim recreant! wily,
Shall eoi bruit her In lettbert of gold on her
lone. ''
Tbe n-un"e of 0'Donnelly, Rotch and O'Reilly,
O'Neill, Caaaidy, Iligin, MtcShand and Ma>
lone.
Scenes after the Battle of Woerth.
Edmund At tout describes the scene* af
ter the buttle of Woerth iu follows:
Oun sous wdid regiments, who nroudlv
retreat. while a few !nm! soldiers. unbond
ed mi«l dfiiiontlized and disarmed,
throw themselves desperately into each
by-path,
I nrrired just in time to stop three
wretched Turn*, mounted on artillery
horM*. tu they were entering an old
quarry, with the hope of making n short
rut from the Held. Our Artillery must
have lieen rough I v used, as so ninny cals
sons |*i4S along the road without guns;
hut hero come one or two regiments of
tho line, quite Arm. tolerably complete in
nuiulier*. rifle on should*? mid knapsacks
on their Ixu-k. Behind theni comes Mar
shal M<Mntn.il. mini. dignified. almost
smiling mid freOi as a rose. I salute him
as he passes; he rosiMiods without noticing
me. One of his alils. M. D'Alzac, name
mo. and then tin* old h*in storsand tells
mnqnlt" a simple story of hKiWeat. thus:
"I had only 35.000men, and I found 160.*
000 In front of iue. Wo hare gircn way
before numbers. They hare killed or
wounded about A000 men, but we shall
bare our revenue. Explain this to the
poblie. But whore are you going in that
direction P" "To Severne," I rwply "Yoo
will ho captured; the Prussians will be
there in two honrm." sars the General. "I
hare my wife and children there," I an
iwer, "God )ireserve you. Do not fall
to sar the morale of tbo troojw is excel.
Ien«.* We shake hand*. I exchange a
few pleasant words with M. D'Alzac. and
1 search vainly In the ranks of the staff,
ss it mores on. for the laughing and kind*
ly face of M. de Va^ue. the offlcer of Ord
nance. This Ane young man, full of
promise, was killed by a bullet passing
Lhnnigh hisforel.eed.eod Gen. Colenn with
s bullet thnaigh his heart. Both of thorn
nrvre struck down by the side of JAi'Mahon.
who eras reckless of hie life. The last
miners was the regiment of Turoos, the
mat complete ami finest of ibe three,
rbeso fellows ham not thrown away thwfr
trnnjnacks nor their arms. One of the
llrst comes out of tLe r inks and clasps me
round the neck. It Is Albert Dory, a fel
low Journalist and an excellent fellow,
lie begins by telling me. "I bar* been to
four honse. It Is emirty. All yiair people
*ro sale hut you! J, as you sec,. an> as
bmosapg* what
a disaster. We will repair it though."
Ho ran* off and disappears In the motly
crowd of hU comrades. Furthsr on I nw
a cirflUn. dratted In a short. little onat of
Kiy velvet who marches like an officer,
ween two companies of the line. It Is
M. Gaildroro. artist, ao old friend of day
before yesterday. JTe carries his portfolio
across his back, and tn-n orrow morning,
at PfaUhurjr. he will no donht make a
sketch of this shameftil retreat. At the
gAtes of Saverne the panic-stricken are
Hyinjr along the railway or are hiding in
gardens. bat some good regimenU or the
line are tramping In step through the
streets. Their passage, calm ami coura
Knis, was not over before 11 o'clock.
pso last belong to the 6th oorps. They
raached Reichshoffer too jate to give bat
tle. I And the little totrn a prrv to a
panic, really felHiloits. Marshal McMahon
arrired t> era on Saturday night at 11
o'clock, followed by the remains of bis
army and preceded by a swarm of breath
lass fugitives. In the twinkling of an eye
Saverne ww itself filled with the First
Corps, which the foe luckily believed tn
have retired upon Ritche.
They messed together where they oonld.
. Those who were most fortirnate were In
the houses of the town, and those who
had brought away their camp equipage,
under their tonts many upon the pave
ments and In the fields under heaven's
canopy. The night was passed in terror.
If tho enemy had known bow to profit by
the opportunity, he might have made 10,*
000 or 15,000 prisoners At one blow. The
population was only half reassured by tho
presence of the .troops, who were broken
down, stArved aimI discomforted. Some
of the families got off by the mail train
at midday, the last that went from Stras
bourg.
Jim Fisk, Jr., as a Peddler.
the rniNCi or eiue amoko the okeex
MOUNTAINS.
Now when the daily pross has become
so familiar with the nuuo of James Eisk,
Jr.. at this day when no chronicle of bulls
awl bear* U complete without him, when
every American retina carries an Imago
of that rollicking plump figure, and Sax
on physique, it U amusing to wltneM tho
sensation which this heroes notoriety hiu
caiinmI Among the dweller* In the rural
sections of New England. In Vermont
narticularilv, ftrom South Vernon to "Hor
ny Line," there is not a busy Tillage or a
remote farm-house where this nun is not
known—where those gay peddling wagons
and pranolng horses are not matter of so
cial history.
Along quiet roads where erery bay
cart was an event, past hillside school
houses whore juveniles were soolded for
stretching their necks out of windows to
investigate tho movements of a nomad
coir or a nobr wheelbarrow—In such lo
calities the Movent of an ambitious char
iot, luminous with varnish, and brave
with paint and gilding, drawn by a quar
tette of mettlesome steeds, whose driver
—favored mortal—eat aloft, arrayed in all
the glories of a cltr tailor, and from his
elevation heamod down npon tho gaping
children, distributing smiles, peanuts and
peppermints in equal measure—this, ah,
this was an evout worth notice, a sensa
tion second only to the arrival of tho an
nual circus I
The writer recalls one buxom matron,
of a sturdy will, wbo h>*rl>. >r«-<l a sover
eign coi tempt f»»r peddlers in general and
for tbece fiasny follows in jiartli-tilar—"I
never let them step over my threshold, I
toll you !" and the good woman shut her
lips as though she would never open them
again. But before the echoes bad dis
missed her aMerronulon, tbero was a
somtd of wheels, a flourish of whips,
neighing of horses, and Klsk's carriage
slo|» tho way. With a Simr'.on front tho
matron opens the door.—There is ao ap
parition of a figure bowing low—a faco
all smiles—the most affable of greetings,
and before the good woman remembers to
slam the door, she is back in the kitchen,
and the enemy is inside the 'oeleageured
fortress. Onoe there and success is assur
ed. It wasn't a had school for any man.
Common sense is coin current the world
orer. and as a general rule a man who
can go up and down these Vermont hills,
and carry his point with those close-judg
ing, far-sighted farmers' wires, can go
anrwhere.
In this case, before she knows it, the
stranger had detected madam's vulnerable
point. 'Don't want to trade?—Bless you
ma'am, nobody asked you to trade! You
won't object to looking though, perhaps.
There's Uiat pretty daughter of rouri; she
wants to see those silks now, I'll wager
anything.'—Here a glance orer hU shoul
der to where a pair of black eyes are
fixed modestly upon some sewing. 'Now
I've got tho lovlfost pattern of blue silk!
Just the thing for a wedding dress!' Kyes
oat down lower, and cheeks pinker tlian
ever. The mother looks grave and ejacu
lates *Pc> hT 'Pooh! Ofcourse, my dear
madam! Fact is, you're so young your
self, and It's such a little time since you
got through with your own wedding
dress, that you've got a daughter old
enough to need one. But. jrraoious, how
theee children do grow! Yes, that bine
silk, ina'ain' it's just the thing for a wed
ding dress!1 Blushes again. *0, yon cant
cheat me! Beside, Tom Aleck rode up
the bill with me.—There I Didn't I tell
you I knew; Mrs. Judge Mac just bought
sevent< en yards off the same pieoe. Of
course you d- nt care for that, but yoo
just let me bring It in to show yoa. Dont
cast Mrthinr to look, you know.
And. forthwith, the agile salosman
rushes oat to th«i door, leaps orer the cat
and kittens aleep on the jtone iten, whit
tles to tho dog, cackles to the poultry .and
In atwinkling, comes dancing hick un
der the llleo hushes, bead and ears Juat
risible above the pile of dry goods of every
sort. It b neediest to aay that a goodly
•hare of tbem adorned Ike matron's kitch
en table when the merchant left. It was
something to see, not to tell, the war in
which this man promenaded up aad down
the tidy kitchen, a gay shawl thrown over
bis shoulders, flinging the blue silk in
ravishing Adds across the lap of the dark
eyed danghttr, and eren holding up the
draperie* of a thick black lustrsless against
the skirt of the non-resistant mother, for
Mrs. B had lonjr ere this Ltid down
her anus, surreodersrt at discretion, and
was no more to he ranked anion* bellige
rent powers. And so the peddler drove
away in tnnmiib. leaving the chest-till
empty and the nlushing damsel at liberty
to dnnra of going to horown wedding, at
tirui In blue silk, seated in a gay tainted
chariot with tho rollicking retxlur. ar
rayed in a crimson shawl and officiating
as parson. As Ibr the mother, she surreys
the haaaar»like kitchen ,s!gh* as she closes
the rhrsfrtill. and 'Doot see how upon
rartb the areolar did it.*
There pratnt a shaded •ribbon' road
anywhere among those hills where these
wagons did not penetrate, and for once
the orioles and yellow b'rds peered out
from the thkket at something .gayur tkui
ti*pscirw. Wlw® they witt once then